[any other time, this would have made prompto react loudly with an exaggerated and startled reaction. however, prompto moves sluggishly to the poke on his shoulder, seeming to unfold from what was his home for most of the day. he doesn't move too far, though, hugging one of the cushions close to his chest and displacing it from its position, the change in position only making him move about to retain the same kind of energy from before.]
[he rubs at his eyes and offers something of a sleepy grumble, the press of the couch on his face obvious from the red marks all over one half of his face.]
[it's really unusual for v to begin conversation with him--definitely not something prompto holds against him by any means--so the difference in their interaction, currently, has him trying to make sense of why he was approached at all. he peers at v with confusion behind his bangs (clearly, all the effort he did on this day was to get out of bed, go to the bathroom, and then claim the couch as his own). the words finally register:]
I'm breathing.
[which... doesn't say a lot, but the sadness and loneliness anchored in him for the past several weeks have started to bruise onto his more creative and enthused responses. it's been harder to try and edit his pictures, to hang out with people, or to overall just want to interact with anything at all. he actually called in for work, unable to sleep the night before and thus unable to wake up on time at all. his energy is just not there, and not feeling up for doing anything just ... makes him feel worse.]
Wassup, dude? You need help with something?
[v needs something, is what his brain concludes. prompto can be useful to others still, so at least he still has that going. he fails to remember his camera (the one from eos) fell off the couch, and is lying face up on the floor.]
no subject
[he rubs at his eyes and offers something of a sleepy grumble, the press of the couch on his face obvious from the red marks all over one half of his face.]
[it's really unusual for v to begin conversation with him--definitely not something prompto holds against him by any means--so the difference in their interaction, currently, has him trying to make sense of why he was approached at all. he peers at v with confusion behind his bangs (clearly, all the effort he did on this day was to get out of bed, go to the bathroom, and then claim the couch as his own). the words finally register:]
I'm breathing.
[which... doesn't say a lot, but the sadness and loneliness anchored in him for the past several weeks have started to bruise onto his more creative and enthused responses. it's been harder to try and edit his pictures, to hang out with people, or to overall just want to interact with anything at all. he actually called in for work, unable to sleep the night before and thus unable to wake up on time at all. his energy is just not there, and not feeling up for doing anything just ... makes him feel worse.]
Wassup, dude? You need help with something?
[v needs something, is what his brain concludes. prompto can be useful to others still, so at least he still has that going. he fails to remember his camera (the one from eos) fell off the couch, and is lying face up on the floor.]